


Broken glass. Warped metal. Smoking engines.

by cuddlepunk



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Car Accidents, Death, M/M, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Suicide, This is really sad, Wakes & Funerals, its first person, patricks pov, trigger warning everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4727153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlepunk/pseuds/cuddlepunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a second, the headlights get too bright, sights all too sharp. The night gets darker, every feeling intensifies. I can hear my heartbeat, I can feel every inhale. I see every move Pete makes, I watch him wince. I watch the city skyline. Blinking glittering lights. I see his face against the lights, he contrasts everything around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken glass. Warped metal. Smoking engines.

**Author's Note:**

> Insert generic disclaimer.. I do not own Fall Out Boy, don't share this with anyone involved in Fall Out Boy, this is purely a work of fiction, all that jazz. 
> 
> ALSO total trigger warning to anyone reading this,,,,,,,, things get intense. I didn't spend a whole lot of time on this so I mean you can correct me if you want but I'm too lazy to alter anything.

Soft conversations, my hands on the steering wheel, staring out across city skylines and looking over to see Pete’s face. Yeah, this is love, alright. Wincing at oncoming bright headlights, a dusty pair of converse resting on the gas pedal. He turns to me and smiles at my silhouette against dark night car window backdrops. I scoff, pushing thick dark frames up to the bridge of my nose. This is melancholy, bittersweet, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Best friends for life. The silent vow between friendship bracelets, shared secrets, blood pacts, and complete trust. We are one force. We intertwine unlike any other two souls on this wretched surface. This is solid, a truth. We are a new experience, a novel dynamic. Lace your fingers with mine and produce barbed wire, stronger chains than any machine can make. We are a stabilized velocity. We are each other. 

This is what I’ve been working towards. After all of the bullshit I’ve gone through in school, as a musician, everything I’ve pulled through has led me to this one moment. For some reason, I feel as if it’s all worth it. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in this world. This is perfection.

He wears short sleeves and skinny jeans in late November. I know he’ll never change. As he sneezes at frosting fall winds, I know to not bother him, not to offer my jacket, but instead a bless you. I can, however, slide a hand against sharp shoulders in hopes of spreading some sort of human level temperatures.

For a second, the headlights get too bright, sights all too sharp. The night gets darker, every feeling intensifies. I can hear my heartbeat, I can feel every inhale. I see every move Pete makes, I watch him wince. I watch the city skyline. Blinking glittering lights. I see his face against the lights, he contrasts everything around him. 

I watch as a cherry red truck approaches us head on.

I look over to Pete, I watch his eyes dilate, I watch him lock eyes with me. I watch as he’s crushed between car walls, blink once before blood spills out his mouth and down his neck, he looks to me once more before his eyes close.

When I wake up, it’s in a bleach white room. I can barely differentiate walls from floor, beds from windows. It’s all too bright. Everything’s blurry. Where are my glasses? Where’s Pete? 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel a piece of me missing. It doesn't matter where my glasses are or where I am. I don’t matter. This room doesn’t matter. Pete isn’t here. Nothing matters.

There’s a blur of white, a blur of red, IV fluids and gauze, casts and bandages. Then I feel myself pushed far away from any traces of pristine gleaming tile floors and onto my own bedroom carpets. I almost miss the shining silvery tools and stiff cotton blankets. It helped me feel like nothing again.

It’s all so frivolous. I don’t want or need to deal with anyone. I don’t care how sorry you are. Nothing anyone can say can fix this. Nothing anyone else can do will bring what we had back. So whats the point of bothering me. Why would anyone keep an eye on me. Nothing fucking matters.

Just as soon as the choking, crushing feeling of familiar environments starts to fleet from my numbing edges, I’m flung into dark colors and absence of any vibrancy. I’m in clean cut suits and squeaky dress shoes. I’m digging my heels into squishy, muddy ground and plastering my eyes to waterlogged tufts of grass. I refuse to face dull stone slabs and bountiful flowers. I don’t want late November afternoons. I am cowardly and small, I admit. Don’t torture me with such sights. I don’t need reminders to know what I have to do.

I think about him rotting away in dark mahogany cases. I picture decaying, calloused fingertips and tattoos in different stages of dark, thick red disarray. Skin peels off faces slowly, becoming nothing but dust and dirt. Dark fall rains push into underground, find cracks in dark wood. His desolated being absorbs cold water and swells in his cavernous, cramped home. This shouldn’t be happening. This is all my fault. 

I, as a person, fade away. Complex tunes and visions of arenas no longer fill my life. Nothing fills my life. I am empty. Night and day no longer feel or look any different. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who I am. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to forget what I have done or what I must do. 

I feel it consume me, fill every crevice of my body until each membrane bursts. My head is pounding, my hands are numbingly cold. My lips are blue. I feel bruises form between each vertebrae in my spine, I scrape my knuckles against sandpaper bricks and dig my nails into cracks in stone walls. There’s a drought in my throat, a famine deep set in my skin. I feel myself wither away and fade into a slight crescent moon. I am not whole. I am broken shards and fleeting particles. 

I know what I have to do.

I know what I deserve.

Hands colder than the early December steering wheel. Don’t turn on the heat. Don’t put on a jacket. Open the windows, feel yourself begin to burn. Let flakes of frozen water get caught on your windshield but for the love of god don’t wipe them off. Allow sub-zero winds to resonate in your core, become a force of your own. 

I overlook city skylines once more. Whipping winds beat against my bare arms. My twitching hands shift a wheel, I let go. I tumble over roadlines with ease, falling off steep hills with a frozen smile.

Broken glass. Warped metal. Smoking engines. I feel hard walls close in on my body. I feel blood on my neck. A flourish of dark reds, spilling organs, slashed flesh, and pounding heads. I have become a fleeting being. This is what I’m supposed to be. Everything is alright now. 

It’s all so perfect. This is just the beginning. I inhale each shaking breath knowing it could be my last. Shh, I tell myself, just let it happen. I’ve never been more together than I am now, slashed into pieces. I gaze at snowy hills. I gaze at my own body in ruins.

I gaze at your face. 

I always knew I would end up with you. I always felt as if we would always come back to each other. I missed you so much. You look perfect. Thank you for waiting. I love you. I always will.


End file.
